


A Man Worth Serving

by alekuzu



Category: Dostoevsky - Fandom, The Brothers Karamazov
Genre: Gen, Oneiric, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 18:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekuzu/pseuds/alekuzu
Summary: A young servant with unbearable paranoia -and possible trauma- decides his only option is spilling human blood and he finds his perfect mobile for executing his plan after meeting his new master, a man worthy of admiration.





	A Man Worth Serving

Since he was little, he had a weak and small body, probably thanks to the genetics of his mother. This never made him feel less than the other kids, and was never the cause of his withdrawal. Overall, he looked just like the other boys, slightly smaller, but when it came to physical strength, he was easily beaten. He had always known strength was not his best quality; he was quite taciturn and reserved and would usually withdraw from any games and physical activities with the other boys. It is known that boys at this age tend to be quite rude and can be very violent in their games, and Pavel Fyodorovich Smerdyakov was not interested in being harmed unnecessarily. He had his own interests and hobbies he would usually practice alone.

Since he started to understand the roles in society and the world at a very short age, he started being more quiet and taciturn. He was not sociable and he enjoyed spending his time alone, wandering around his master’s house. Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov was the owner of a quite big land where he employed Smerdyakov’s caretakers as servants.

From a very young age, Smerdyakov showed qualities of a very intelligent but disrespectful boy. He was often scolded and physically punished because of this.

There was very little he could do to defend himself from his master and caretakers, and the same happened when he had to face bullies on the streets. Everyone seemed to enjoy and make fun at the fact that he was weak and vulnerable. With the time, the boys grew into young men and lost all interest in physical violent games and molesting Smerdyakov. On his side, Smerdyakov developed an epilepsy that would accompany him for the rest of his life. From this moment, Fyodor Karamazov started showing some compassion for the boy and expressly prohibited the servants to put a hand on him. He would also give him a rouble now and then and made him his personal valet and his cooker.

\---

In the middle of a very hot and dry August, Fyodor returned to his home and called Smerdyakov to serve him some liquor and sweets. Idle chat. It was already late and he was about to return to the istba, but Fyodor asked him to stay in the house on one of the couches. Smerdyakov never said no to his masters’ requests, so he stayed and made him company until past midnight. When all the lights were out, Fyodor returned to his room and Smerdyakov laid on a couch. It was in nights like this that he was unable to sleep. The heat and the hot sensation on his skin, the sounds of the bugs that came out on to die in the later summer, all of this was very exhausting for him. One hour passed, then two, his insomnia made him feel tired, his head slightly hurting from so much thinking and he could not fall asleep. Sometimes he could not tell whether he was consciously thinking, if he was awake, or if he was dreaming. He felt like his comforter was heavier than it had been before. It was so heavy, he started being anxious about it and his breath became heavier and shorter. He looked down to his feet and he saw what it seemed to be the silhouette of a man, he seemed to be hiding in the comforter and smiling at him. Smerdyakov’s heartbeat increased in panic, he wanted to move, get up, push the man away, but he was not capable of even moving his limbs. He thought of screaming, but the voice would not come out of his mouth. His panicking heart made him open his eyes. He came to his senses in the middle of the dark.

His racing heartbeat and crippling fear kept him lying on the couch for a couple of minutes. He was trying to assimilate and tell the difference between reality and what seemed to be a dream, but even if he tried to convince himself it was all a nightmare, his body did not feel the same. He could not stop shaking and his chest could not stop hurting in deep anguish. He started crying. He could not stop all these feelings or the tears from running down his eyes, and this frustrated him even more. He was only a young man, small and weak, he was unprotected and vulnerable and everyone was aware of this.

_"This is what I did to your mother"_

He closed his eyes and covered his head with the comforter, trying to breathe deeply to calm his heartbeats.

“Will this ever stop? Maybe I will never be able to get better again. Maybe my trust in human kind is broken and I will never get it back.” He told to himself, suddenly sitting on the couch, his hands on his face. “I’m done with this fear. I’m done with these feelings. I’m done thinking this is fair.” He thought, roughly wiping the tears off his face, breathing deeply almost in anger. “I can’t continue like this. Why do I even keep trying? I should just put an end to all this nonsense. I know things will never change. I will never change.” He stood up, walked a few steps in the room, and then sat again. “Why do I keep seeing such horrible images? What is wrong with my subconscious? Maybe this is what I think I deserve. Maybe I think there’s nothing else than a deplorable life of abuse and hence it’s what I deserve.” He got upset at the thought, holding his head with his hands. “Maybe it means that I don’t feel capable of defending myself. The sad part is that it all makes sense… It’s all I’ve known and there’s no way I can know if I would be able to fight back for my life when I need it.” The rational thinking had made his heartbeat calm down, and finally he thought: “I have to do it. There is no other way I can make my fear and anxieties stop. The only way I can get over all this and never come back to this state of mind is finding out whether I can or I cannot… I must do it.” He was immersed in his thoughts, it seemed like he had in mind one only solution.

The fear he had for men was rather paranoid and sick. Crowds would drain him, but lonely alleys would make him tense and afraid. His fear concentrating in his chest, his throat would also hurt and his shoulders would get stiff. Sometimes he found himself touching his throat in tension. He was always on the verge of having a breakdown, always ready to fight or fly. But was he really capable? This is what he had been wondering for a long time. In a situation of panic, what would he actually be capable of doing? In his mind, his subconscious always betrayed him, sending him messages that he was not capable of reacting properly to any threatening situation. This was one of the worst images he saw in a long time and after ruminating about it, it seemed like he had come to a conclusion. He had contemplated this idea for a long time, but he never thought he would ever call it his last resource. “I must do it… I must kill a man.” It rather seemed like he had given up. “It is the only way I will be able to change. It is the only way I can get my life back. And if I don’t, if I end up wasting it, spilling human blood in vain and losing myself in the process, I would gladly throw it all away and end my life. It would be better than keep on living this pathetic existence.” He felt tired again and he laid down. “Maybe if I blamed it on someone else, it’d be much easier.” Perhaps he was thinking about his shame, but a part of him was already starting to plan his ideal setting.

He was particularly good at hiding his emotions; either good or bad, he did not show any. He silently started planning his project. No one would have been able to tell he was into something, because, just as usual, he would keep all to himself and keep on working in silent. By the time he decided on this, a new face showed up in town: Fyodor’s middle son, Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov, an intellectual respectable man about Smerdyakov’s age. He had come from Moscow with some plans. He installed himself in his father’s house and quickly became a big influence on him. Perhaps it was thanks to his manipulative thoughtfulness, one could say he had Fyodor eating from his hand. Smerdyakov found all of this interesting for the first time. He was amazed at how a man as taciturn and intelligent as Ivan could easily change things into his benefit. He became fond of Ivan because of his personality, his attitude and, what was more interesting: his unique way of thinking.

Ivan was not afraid of expressing himself around people, but he did it with eloquence. He did not avoid offending the most sensitive types, but there was something in his attitude and his delicate selection of words that made it look –in the eye of a careful observer- that he offended people on purpose, with the subtle selection of specific words. He got just the right reactions whenever he spoke; it showed in the very slight smile on his face. It was not his mouth, but rather his eyes that betrayed him, but this was not an easy treat to notice.

There was something curious about Ivan that captivated Smerdyakov’s attention. Beyond his stoic expression, there was suffering and passion, a deep desire for something else beyond comprehension. Smerdyakov knew this. He had become especially fond of serving Ivan. He would show up to offer him anything whenever he was around. When Ivan did not need anything, Smerdyakov would just stay in the room, looking at him now and then. Ivan knew Smerdyakov admired him some way, but he would just look away whenever he met the eyes of his valet.

Ever since Ivan Fyodorovich came and brought a little bit of stability to the house of Fyodor Pavlovich, Smerdyakov felt slightly soothed. He was thankful that he could rather quietly withdraw and think about his project. Cleaning, making the dinner, sharpening the knives, this had especially a soothing effect oh him. Those were his working tools after all. He loved manipulating them and testing how much strength things needed to be cut and stabbed. It would be a lie to say he had not tried this in a short scale on living animals when he was little. He was hardly punished when they found out what he had been doing. He stopped doing this kind of things and forgot about these thoughts. It was only until some time ago he retook the idea and started wondering if he could be capable of spilling human blood.

Would it be of any benefit for him? Of course it would, but somehow he was still reluctant at executing his plan. This is when the arrival of Ivan Fyodorovich had a big impact on him. Smerdyakov quickly became interested and understood some of the dynamics of Ivan and the Karamazov family. Ivan despised his father, he also despised his older brother Dmitry, and he was quite indifferent about Alexei, the younger one. Smerdyakov related deeply to Ivan’s feelings. “He understands me and I understand him.” He thought he had found an ally on Ivan Fyodorovich and he wanted to do as much as he could to show Ivan he was on his side and he understood him. He had finally found a man worth serving, worth of admiration, a man he would do anything for, whom he would give anything to, even his own life. It was almost as if he could worship Ivan as some kind of deity. It seemed like time had stopped and started moving in another direction, as if life now finally made sense.

He would feel the urge to bow and kneel to his new master from time to time. Ivan would not say a word when Smerdyakov did this, he seemed like he was always rather only observant, he let Smerdyakov do as he pleased around him and he quite liked giving him a couple of commands. Smerdyakov gladly took them and did all he could to please Ivan.

Ivan had a love interest, his older brother’s betrothed, Katerina Ivanovna; but the true love interest of Dmitry Fyodorovich was Agrefena Alexandrovna, who was also the love interest of their father. “What a bunch of brutes.” Smerdyakov thought to himself. “Getting in the way of Ivan Fyodorovich.  He wishes for the death of his father and his wishes are my command. Dmitry is only an overly passionate scoundrel. He would not even dare to kill his father for that woman; it is very unlikely given his sensible nature. Is it possible that I am the only one left for this task? The moment has finally come. I have to execute. There’s no more time to ponder, whether I will be able or not, I must do it either way.”

“When I finally do it and Ivan sees how well I executed, he will praise me and compensate me for a lifetime because thanks to me he’ll be freed of his father. We will blame it on his useless brother, he will be free to marry the woman and inherit 40,000 roubles of the old man’s fortune.”

“Just wait and see, Ivan Fyodorovich.” A smile drew on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to take it out of my chest.


End file.
